


From the Ashes

by ladyinquinnsitor



Series: From the Ashes [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Cullen POV, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Kirkwall, Mages, Mages and Templars, The Hanged Man - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3614379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyinquinnsitor/pseuds/ladyinquinnsitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well... I finally worked up the nerve to embark on a running Dragon Age AU! I love doing one-shots and I will probably continue when inspiration strikes, but this will be my new weekly adventure. The events surrounding the Inquisition through Cullen's point of view, starting in Kirkwall just before the Conclave. I really hope you stay tuned in, each one of you means so much to me. </p><p>Full disclosure, OTP: Cullen/Lavellan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

The Knight-Captain's shoulders drooped as he sunk his head a little lower, pulling the cowl loosely around his face. “Another!” he shouted, elbows slipping clumsily along the bar's surface.  _I must look ridiculous._

“Are you sure that's wise, Ser?”

“Shhh...quiet, do not address me as such in these walls! I did not come here seeking your counsel, barkeep. Now, if you would  _kindly_ get me another,” he sneered.

“As you wish, Ser,” the raggedy gentleman replied with an eye roll. Cullen tried to work out the man's age as he watched him fill the tankard. _30... 40... 60?_ It was impossible to tell. Lowtown had been rough at the best of times, and these days The Hanged Man was more of a refugee camp then a recreational establishment. Those that wandered its halls were unnaturally weathered - by fear, disillusion, heartache. They searched out all manner of debauchery to forget their troubles, much the same as they had before the rebellion. The air was thick, muddled with the smell of cinder and sex; it was enough to make your eyes burn. A twinge of revulsion gnawed at his stomach.  _Good thing I'm two pints past giving a damn._ He took a generous swig of ale.

“Rough day, Curly?”

Cullen turned begrudgingly to face his inquirer. Was there no place in this forsaken town he could remain anonymous. He watched as the dwarf worked to pull himself onto the stool beside him, hurling his obscenely large crossbow onto the space in between. “Do we know each other, dwarf?”

“Not exactly. But I never forget a face.”

Cullen reluctantly threw the cowl back down around his neck.  _So much for that._ He studied the vaguely familiar face, searching the depths of his memory. His head had begun to spin ever so slightly. As a templar he hadn't tasted a sip of alcohol since Andraste knows when, and it left him a bit hazy. His intention was to spend the night forgetting and here he was, struggling to make himself remember.

“Yes, um, you were... wasn't that you at the uh...” try as he might he couldn't muster up a clue. He threw his arms up in defeat. In the months since the Chantry explosion he had seen so many faces, too many faces, haunting faces. “Ahh!” he groaned rubbing his temples,  _make them stop._

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, don't hurt yourself, kid,” his acquaintance pleaded, firmly slapping his back. “The name is Varric Tethras. Writer, warrior and consummate drinker. You may have seen me with my traveling companion; goes by the name of Hawke. I suppose now he’s known as the Champion of Kirkwall. I've been coming here for a long time, know everyone who comes through those doors. Things must be pretty bad if you're slumming it down here with us.”

 _Hm!_ A slow, snide, involuntary chuckle rolled from Cullen's belly. “Ah yes, now that you mention it,” he could faintly recall this dwarf's face, or perhaps it was the crossbow he remembered. “Turns out your friend was right about our dear old Meredith; I suppose I should have seen it sooner. Tell me Varric, where is your  _Champion_  now? We work day in and day out to restore order to this city, people lay dying in the streets, on these floors. Tell me, what did he champion in the end exactly? More mages are dead now than ever.”

Varric winced and gestured to the help for a drink. “Ouch! That's it, tell me how you really feel. I can take it.”

He let out a tortured sigh. “I don't...  _I don't_  wish ill of your friend, but the world is tearing itself apart as a result of your - ,” he trailed off, “ -  _his_  actions.”

“Even you can't truly believe that?”

“What else would you have me believe?”

“The tension between mages and templars existed long before that kid ever turned up in Kirkwall, hell, before any of us were ever born. Just because he took a stand at this pivotal moment in an age old drama doesn't mean he was the instigator.”

Cullen shifted in his seat. His petite associate had just summarized what he knew had always been true. Or at least what he had come to know had always been true.  _This was not how the night was supposed to go._ “I didn't really come prepared for a debate. Is it too much to leave that at the door for one a night?”

“You picked a hell of place, but I can help with that. Arty, another round over here!”

“I shouldn't.”

“Nonsense, we're well past that now. Let's lighten the mood. What's good in your life, Captain? You got a girl? Is that allowed with you guys? I mean, without the Chantry on your backs, who's to stop you?”

Cullen shook his head,  _Maker._ “Do you fancy yourself a comedian, dwarf? Do I look like I see much  _good_  in my life?”

Varric frowned. “No. But you're a handsome guy, and in fact you'd go great on one of my book covers. I can see it now,” he raised both of his hands into a make believe frame, “Brooding Knight-Captain meets an enchanting young mage, star-crossed lovers cosmically bound to one another. I should write this down...” He began scrounging through his pockets looking for a piece of charcoal.

“Scandalous,” Cullen muttered reaching to still Varric's hand.

“Alright, alright, too controversial. Perhaps an elven girl then? Saved from the desperation of the alienage by her Knight in shining armor.”

“No.” He said through bared teeth.

“Fine, perhaps women aren't your thing.”

“I didn't say  _that_!”

“I don't judge.”

“Nor do I... I just haven't shared anyone's company, a  _woman's_  company since my days at the Tower. Well I didn't exactly share her company...”

“Oh-ho, mage it is, or was it a fellow templar? Maybe blondie isn't so dull after all! She must have been a hell of a girl if you've been clinging to that all of these years. You couldn't have been more than a boy at the Tower.”

“Yes, well, she was...extraordinary.”

Varric smiled. “Did you ever tell her?”

“No...” he grimaced as Amell's face flashed through his mind. Feelings began to surface that he hadn't felt in a long time, feelings he had tried to erase. He began to rub his throat, trying to relieve the choking sensation that clawed at his neck. “Last time we met, I did not behave in way that any proper man should. I was unkind to the one person who always showed kindness to me. I have no greater regret than my actions that day.” He never spoke of her to anyone.  _What the hell am I doing? What has this poison opened me up to?_

“Tough break. That's heavy kid. For what it's worth, I had a girl once, but she's off and married now. There's nothing like the one that got away.” He raised his glass “to what could have been!”

“That's a horrible toast,” he objected, still raising his glass. They shared a unified gulp.

“Do you think things would have turned out differently if I had seen through Meredith sooner? I was just trying to do my job. I thought following orders was the way we protect people.” Cullen gripped his chest. “She was always rough around the edges, but it wasn't until that damned lyrium idol. Where did it even come from?”

Varric cleared his throat. “About that -”

Their conversation ended abruptly when a commotion erupted by the entry way. A woman's voice cut through the crowd.

“Has anyone here seen the Knight-Captain this night?”

 _What? For the love of..._ Cullen raised the cowl around his face once more; he did not wish to be seen like this - intoxicated, in such a lascivious venue nonetheless. What would that do to his reputation? He knew it was not unusual to see a templar here; his boys spent their nights freely as of late, and in all honesty he preferred not to know what they did off-duty. But he was supposed to be their leader, and he doubted he would be forgiven such an indiscretion. He could hear his pursuer moving through the crowd.

“Captain Cullen? Anyone? I have it on good authority that he was last seen in this  _area_ ,” she said rather disgustedly. The crowd paused for a moment, a few arguing amongst themselves but quickly returning to their own activities.“No one?” The woman grunted.

“Well, If I were you kid, I would run. Trust me, you don't want to be on her bad side...” Varric advised. “There's a door out back, leads directly to the alley way. The tab's on me this time. Hurry, they don't call them Seekers for nothing.”

 _Seeker? Why would a Seeker be in a place like this? What did they need him for?_ “I cannot repay this kindness, thank you. Perhaps we'll meet again one day, to finish this conversation.”

“Yeah yeah, pleasure's all mine. Now shoo.”

Cullen winced as the dwarf elbowed him in the rib cage. He rolled off his chair and began to creep his way toward the exit.  _Is walking always this difficult? How do we do this every day?_ “You're pathetic,” he chided under his breath. Just a few more steps and he would be free into the night.

He pushed his way through the door and was quickly met by the brisk sobering air. “Ahhh.” He looked up at the stars, though he could only make out a few through the fog of lantern and chimney smoke. He charged his way up the alley while taking care not to draw too much attention, but despite his best efforts he could feel himself staggering.  _Almost there._

“Ah, Knight-Captain, is that you? Cullen?” He could hear the sound of desperate footsteps running up behind him.

 _Damn._ He slowly pivoted around, hand upon the back of his neck. There was no point in trying to run, not now.

“Apologies; this district gets rather loud at night, wouldn't you agree?” He flashed an innocent smile. “Indeed, it  _is_  I for whom you search, though there's not much sense in titles these days. You can call me Cullen, Miss... apologies, I don't believe I've made your acquaintance?”

She furrowed her brows, her steely gaze travelled from his head to toes, voice stern. “Cassandra Pentaghast. Seeker and Right Hand to the Divine.”

 _Is that all? Fantastic, well this night couldn't possibly go any better._ “I am honored Seeker Pentaghast, but perhaps this conversation would be better met during daylight, say tomorrow. I could arrange...”

“Now will do fine” she retorted. “There is much to discuss.”

 _Brilliant._  “Of course. By all means then, lead the way.”

Little did he know how that night would change everything.

 


	2. The Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their run-in outside The Hanged Man, Cullen receives a potentially life-changing proposition from Seeker Pentaghast.

After what felt like an eternity, Cassandra finally ducked her way into a nondescript doorway in Hightown, motioning for him to follow. Cobwebs laced the alcove and the area was dimly lit; the estate had obviously been abandoned for some time.

“Don't you worry how this might look?” Cullen asked wearily.

“Do you presume my motivations unchaste?” The Seeker replied.

“ _What_? Heavens no, of course not!” He could feel the heat rising through his cheeks. “But to someone on the street...”

“They are the least of my concerns. Really Captain, I believe you are the only one in a position to worry about  _appearances_  right now,” she said, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

His face dropped to meet his palm in embarrassment; how far he had fallen in the months since the Chantry attack. She was right to judge him. He wore his sins like some horrible anchor around his neck, and lately it was becoming harder and harder to come up for air. He feared that if he weren't careful he may drown completely in his sorrow. Their eyes met, and he wanted to break her gaze, afraid of what she might find, but he couldn't. Cassandra’s eyes told a story all their own; he could see a softness not otherwise manifest in her features and a glimmer of excitement shining just below the surface. Who really was this woman? No doubt whatever she wanted to discuss would prove to be interesting indeed.

They now stood dwarfed on all sides by the massive entry hall, not unusual for the more luxe estates in Hightown. Though grandiose, the whole place was in a horrible state of disrepair; paintings were collapsed on the floor, broken furniture lay strewn about and shredded tapestries lined the walls. The most alarming sight was the faded, yet clearly distinguishable blood patterns spattered throughout the room.  _What on earth happened here?_ Cassandra moved toward the fireplace and began to stoke the fading embers, her keys clanking as she tossed them onto the mantle.  
  
“What is this place?” Cullen asked, somewhat hesitantly.

“I suppose you  _could_  say it's a gift from a friend _._ It belonged to a family member who is no longer with us. I was given access to it as part of a...  _not so mutual agreement_ , the terms of which are not important,” she replied vaguely. “Please, sit,” she entreated him, dragging a chair from across the room.

He obliged, promptly taking his seat. She slumped down opposite him, legs asunder; it was clear to him that she was used to working along side men, not entertaining them. The whole thing was so strange, being hunted down in the depths of Lowtown just to be dragged up to some crime scene of a mansion by a Seeker he'd never met. A few months ago he would have been deeply concerned; the Seekers of Truth were in charge of policing the Templar order, and if one came calling that usually meant trouble. But with the Templars having left the Chantry, he no longer answered to her authority. “I don't mean to seem unappreciative of your hospitality Lady Pentaghast, but what is the meaning of all of this? It must be urgent to drag you away from the Divine.”

“ _Ugh_ …” she groaned. “I have never been _Lady_ , there is no need to address me as such. I know the circumstances are,  _unusual,_  to say the least. We live in a critical time Captain, decisions must be made that will shape humanity's future and the future of  _all_  Thedas. Tell me Rutherford, why did you join the Templars?”

Her query caught him off guard. He had been asking himself the same question for quite some time, but the answer proved more elusive than it had when he was a younger man. After some time to collect his thoughts, he eventually began; “As a boy, I grew up next to a rather bright young child named Talia. She was kind and brave and wildly intelligent. We spent many summers adventuring through the wood together. Then one year, when she was just north of our 6th birthday, something changed. One night, the whole village crowded around her family home and watched as it burned to the ground, not a board remained. I vividly remember the flames, they licked all the way to the heavens. We all worked to quench the fire, but those flames... they were not natural, we could find nothing to stop them. It destroyed a whole block before it was over, thankfully it was mostly storage buildings. Eventually, a tiny figure emerged from the smoke, collapsing to the ground as it cried out in agony. Talia had passed through the inferno completely sound of body but consumed by grief. Of their family of 6, only her father and brother had survived. They took refuge with our family while their house was rebuilt. Days slowly turned to weeks and she never said a word, not to anyone. I stopped by each morning to ask if she would accompany me to the schoolhouse, but she would just shake her head, eyes wet with fresh tears.” He could see Cassandra hanging on every word, fingers laced together, eyes intently focused on him. “Then one day... these  _men_ rode into town. I had never seen their like before. After the Orlesian occupation, my family outfitted many soldiers with horses but these were no soldiers... not exactly. Their chests bore flaming swords, shoulders adorned with expertly crafted pauldrons and they carried themselves like Knights from a storybook. I watched as Talia's father dragged her from our house, I would have resisted, she put up no fight. 'What are you doing?' I shouted, 'You can't take her!' But she just looked at me. I can still hear her voice, ' _Cullen_. I must go... promise you won't weep for me. I’d hurt you if I stayed! I killed them Cullen... I killed them all,' her voice cracking as sobs began to rack her body. I reached for her hand, our fingers met for a brief second before the men on horseback scooped her away... then just like that, she was gone. I stood in disbelief for a long while, then immediately demanded to know whose house those men served. _Tha_ t was the first time I heard of mages and templars. From that day on I swore to myself that I would join the Templar ranks! That maybe if I had known what she was, I could have protected her, helped her. I can't imagine what that ordeal did to her. It was clear that mages were dangerous...we all loved Talia's family, she was a good person, they were good people,  she didn't mean to hurt them. But she needed to be controlled.”

“Did you ever see her again?” The Seeker asked, mouth agape.

His eyes narrowed. “No... I begged my parents to allow me to join the Order when I was 8, but they made me wait until I was 14. Her family moved away to Redcliffe shortly after she left, too many bad memories I suppose. When I reached Denerim for training I asked around to see if anyone knew of her whereabouts, but I never heard about her again. I joined the Templars to protect people like Talia from themselves, to protect us from them, but somewhere along the way it was the mages who started to need protection from me. There is so much I regret. I know magic is dangerous, it needs to be monitored, restrained, but there must be a better way... all of this bloodshed, to what end? Where does it stop?” He rubbed his temples; he should have dosed with lyrium hours ago. Searing pain began to creep from the base of his neck upward.

“ _Cullen_ , I'm sorry. I know what it is like to experience  _loss_ at such a young age.” Her eyes broke away toward the floor. “No child should have to endure such tragedies. I want to build a world where they won't have to! Divine Justinia wants that too. In a time before the Chantry, Templars and Seekers worked together to bring order to the world, and I want to honor their legacy.”

“I'm sure your intentions are admirable Cassandra, but look how all of that turned out? Are we any better off because of their actions?”

“It is a daunting task and mistakes have been made on all sides, but I have faith, as does the Divine, that we can do this... together. She is holding a conclave, a meeting where representatives from all of Thedas can come together; Mages, templars, elves, clerics, Orlesians, Fereldans. Can you imagine it? This could be a new beginning.”

He wanted to believe her; with all his being, he had to believe that peace was possible. “There would have to be major reform on all sides. Clearly our system was broken.”

“Beyond doubt, and I don't claim to have all the answers. Magic is dangerous, but so was our iron fist. There must be something in between. I have heard reports of how you stood up to Commander Meredith, and... what happened to you at the Fereldan Circle.”

“What did you hear of my presence at the Circle?”

“Does it matter?"

He supposed not, and there was no point digging up those skeletons now. “But what need could you have of me?

“If the conclave is not successful, we will need a man of your merit. Even if the Maker smiles upon us and all does go well at the summit, there will still be need for strong leadership. Men of good heart and honorable purpose are rare, and your name was the only one repeatedly put forward.”

 _By whom he wondered?_ He flinched, the pain that had begun in his head now tore its way through his extremities.

“Will you join us? Not as Captain, not as a Templar, but as our Commander? Let's build a new,  _united_  Thedas!”

“Commander? Of  _what_ exactly? I am honored, make no mistake, but... I fear I am not the man I once was.” His voice wavered as he looked into her eyes.

“You will help me lead a new  _Inquisition_. I know you cannot see it Cullen, but the man you think you've lost, I see him, he is there, in your eyes. I have no doubt that you are capable of amazing things, but this is something you must do for yourself. Take what time you need to think it over, but I will be gone two days hence. I must meet the Divine at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Whether or not you are at my side, that is up to you.”

“To say you have given me much to think about would be a  _vast_  understatement.”  _The Inquisition? Reborn? They were offering him a chance to be their Commander, truly?_ It was like something out of a dream. If he weren’t so calloused by all of the horrors he had seen, he'd be jumping at the chance without hesitation. But this was no small matter; he would need to take the night to think on what she'd said. “I will have your answer before sundown tomorrow.”

She nodded. “I am sorry to put such a deadline upon you, but please understand the circumstances we find ourselves in.”

“Of course, and I am honored that you have entertained me as your choice.” He stood up from his chair.

“Let me show you to the door,” she volunteered.

Cullen nodded appreciatively. As they approached the door he turned and raised her hand to his lips. “Rest well, Seeker.”

She squirmed, altogether unprepared for his gesture. Had he taken a misstep? Was that  _not_  how a gentleman should act? Alcohol still lingered in his veins and the whole of his body screamed for the lyrium he was overdue.

She blushed as she yanked her hand away. “ _Captain_... until tomorrow then,” she said flustered, closing the door firmly in his face.

He stood staring at the door before him.  _Well that was altogether unexpected._ After a long moment to collect himself, he began the long walk home. The cool night air was a welcome embrace upon his skin, he felt his senses begin to stir back to life.  _A Commander?_ He had been close once, but that was before he had defied Meredith.

The trek from the residences in Hightown to the Templar barracks left him breathless. It was well past midnight now, and he could scarcely recall his own name. He paused as he approached the former Chantry. No matter how many hundreds of times he passed this spot he feared he would never grow used to the sight. Meredith's corpse stood entombed in the middle of the square, surrounded by broken columns and huge chunks of rubble. The events of that fateful day came crawling into his mind.

\- “ _The time has come to act, there can be no half measures. There is no turning back...” -_  


He cradled his head as images of a monstrous red beam blasting through the Chantry overtook his thoughts.

 

-“ _There is no compromise...” -_  


Anders word's echoed in his mind, maybe the apostate had been right. He reflected on the conversation he'd had with Varric not 3 hours prior.  ' _The tension between mages and templars existed long before any of us were even born_.' Who were they to presume they could end such a conflict? Could it even be done?

Stumbling through the threshold to his private quarters, he let out a weary sigh. The familiar bite of loneliness pricked at his heart when he gazed about the sparsely decorated room. Despite the growing number of years he had spent in Kirkwall, Cullen’s room remained sterile, foreign, uninviting. After securing the entry, he tore the cloak from his shoulders.  _Some disguise it had proven to be, everyone in town seemed to recognize him anyway_. His shirt fell to the ground next as he lifted it from his back, moonlight pouring over his bare chest. Lacing his fingers behind his head, Cullen threw himself onto the cot behind him. He stared off at the ceiling, trying to quiet his restless soul, to no avail. Rolling over to face his wooden bedside table, he jostled the top drawer free. His eyes found their target as he lifted the box within. He sat up, legs crossed, carefully placing the kit he had removed onto the bed before him. Pausing resentfully, he then unlatched the lid to reveal its plush velvet interior.  _Lyrium,_ his oldest friend. It had always been there for him when no one else was, to calm his thoughts and ease his pain. He could hardly go a day without its nurturing touch. Lifting one of the philters from it's resting place he inspected the iridescent blue liquid. Here he was, a  _grown_ -man, a  _hardened_ man, dependent as a newborn child on its mother's teat.

A deep growl rumbled through his chest, body aching, his face had begun to sweat profusely. “ _Enough_!!” He shouted, throwing the vial against the wall. The Templar watched as it shattered, painting the stones a cerulean hue, his fists shook the bed beneath him as they heaved downward. His actions were not without cost, acquiring the valuable substance had become more and more of a challenge as their stores began to run low.  _Just... take it, you need it!_ He fought to suppress his craving, but the pain rippled through him like lightning now, his thoughts more and more scattered.He lifted another vial from the case and raised it upward, taking a deep breath as it made contact with his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw it back, his whole body rejoicing as the sweet nectar ran down his throat. Consumed by self-loathing, he couldn’t feel the glass cracking in his palm, burying dozens of shards deep within his skin. He would never be free, so long as the Chantry held his lyrium tether. He slowly spread his fingers apart, exposing the fresh blood leaching from his veins.  _Good riddance._

He fell back upon his pillow with an anxious heart. Was Cassandra right? Did the man he used to be still exist, or was he just a mindless drug-addled shell? Would he have the strength required to find out? He turned over, wrapping his now throbbing hand between the sheets.

“ _O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places._

_O Creator, see me kneel: For I walk only where you would bid me. Stand only in the places You have blessed. Sing only the words You place in my throat._

_My Maker, know my heart. Take me from a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of your endless pride._

_My Creator, judge me whole: Find me well within Your grace. Touch me with fire that I be cleansed. Tell me I have sung to Your approval_.”

He pulled a small gold coin from his trousers and placed a tortured kiss upon its face.  _Maker guide me in this decision; if you deem me worthy, I shall answer Your call_. He held the token firmly to his chest as he finally let sweet slumber overtake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Ashes  
> A story from Cullen Rutherford's perspective  
> Game: Starting just prior to Dragon Age Inquisition  
> OTP: Cullen/Lavellan  
> Disclaimer: The Dragon Age universe and it's characters are the sole intellectual property of BioWare and EA. This is simply my interpretation of their story. It is also an AU, not EVERYTHING will be canon.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Dragon Age and it's characters are the intellectual property of Bioware and EA, this is just my interpretation of their wonderful story -


End file.
